Lent Reflections

After experiencing the death of Jesus, a few of his friends and family members tenderly wrapped his body, laid him to rest, and prepared for the Sabbath — the day of rest. Not a day of miracle or revolution or fixing the situation. But a day of rest, sitting with the reality of losing Jesus. We can imagine memories coming up in the minds of the disciples on this day. Perhaps they even turned a corner and imagined Jesus would be there, or they set a table and had an impulse to include a place for him. A day of rest, sitting with the pain of loss and the joy of memories. Let us faithfully reside in the waiting of Holy Saturday before fully embracing the ever-flowing light and hope of Easter morning.

In the relentless busyiness of modern life, we have lost the rhythm between work and rest. All life requires a rhythm of rest. There’s a rhythm in our waking activity and the body’s need for sleep. There is a rhythm in the way day dissolves into night and night in the morning. There’s a rhythm in the active growth of spring and summer as it is quieted by the necessary dormancy of fall and winter.

There’s a tidal rhythm, a deep eternal conversation between the land and the great sea. In our bodies, the heart perceptibly rests after each life-giving beat; the lungs rest between the exhale and the inhale. We’ve lost this essential rhythm.

Our culture invariably presupposes that action and accomplishment are better than rest … that doing something, doing anything, is better than doing nothing. Because of our desire to succeed to meet these ever-growing expectations, we do not rest. Because we don’t rest, we lose our way. We miss the compass points that would show us where to go. We miss the quiet that would give us wisdom. We miss the joy and love and ease born of effortless delight. Poisoned by the belief that good things come only through determination and tireless effort, we can never truly rest, and for want of rest, our lives are in danger. Thomas Merton, a beloved Cistercian monk writing in the late 1960’s said, ‘there is a pervasive form of contemporary violence, and that is activism and overwork. The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of this innate violence. To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything is to succumb to violence. The frenzy… kills the root of inner wisdom which makes work fruitful.

Peace is not the product of terror or fear.
Peace is not the silence of cemeteries.
Peace is not the silent result of violent repression.
Peace is the generous, tranquil contribution of all to the good of all.
Peace is dynamism.
Peace is generosity.
It is right and it is duty.

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.”

In today’s readings, Psalm 34 repeats this response: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.” As we continue to rest in periods of sabbath time this Lent, I struggle again and again to feel God in the broken places of my heart. I struggle to feel embraced and held together by the power of the Spirit, a power that knows the human heart and all its wonderings and wanderings and longings. I struggle to trust God is close to the brokenhearted when I witness so much pain and injustice in our city and in our world. It is heavy pain. It continues to weigh me down and break my heart. And so I try again today to trust in God. I try again today to believe the God of beauty and grace and courage surrounds me. I try again today to breathe in this Holy Spirit…and breathe out…and in…and out. I try again today.

Through the years, the little adage: “Fear not, you are inadequate!” has come back to me, off and on, mostly at times when I have been a bit overwhelmed. There is a certain consolation in it. Whether you are a parent, a teacher, a minister, a priest, an advocate for justice, or simply a friend to someone in need, there are countless times when you come face to face with your own inadequacy. It is healthy, humbling, and uplifting to accept the fact that we are not God and that we are not asked to try to be. ~ From “Daybreaks, Daily Reflections for Lent and Easter Week” by Ron Rolheiser, OMI

A powerful image from St. Patrick’s life and ministry: While Celtic pagan festival fires were burning on the Hill of Tara in Ireland, the High Kings forbid other fires in the area. But Patrick, who had returned to Ireland to bring Christianity to its people, defied convention, lighting a paschal (Easter) fire on the Hill of Slane, located about 16km northeast of Tara. From the Hill of Tara, you can see the Hill of Slane across the valley on a clear day. High King Laoghaire and his attendants went to confront the interloper. According to legend, Patrick plucked a shamrock from the ground, using its three leaves (and his Irish language skills) to explain the Church’s paradox of the Holy Trinity: the union of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit in one. Convinced by the stranger, Laoghaire agreed to let Patrick continue his missionary work and let the Paschal fire continue to burn.

“I say yes, yes to everything, to that meal and that event and that trip and that person. It’s so delicious, and I don’t want to miss out on even one moment of it. And that’s the point: I miss all sorts of sacred and significant moments, because of my insistence that I can do it all.”

(Niequist, 166-7).

But is there something better than more? Is less more? What would it be like to notice each meal, each bite, each conversation? What would it be like to not be running after something all the time?

This Lent, I invite you to “breathe, rest, practice the idea of enough. Practice the idea of living well, and a little more slowly. Practice believing that it will all still be here, waiting to be devoured freshly, after a good night’s sleep.”

(Niequist, 168).

Excerpts taken from Bittersweet: Thoughts on change, grace, and learning the hard way by Shauna Niequist

“Free will leads me to the church each week.I could resist it, but I don’t.I like the routine, and walking into church is like walking into a second home, where I am not only my earthly father’s daughter, but I am also a child of the King.”

Sabbath MomentsFour years ago I made a new year’s resolution to “Keep the Sabbath.” My Jewish neighbors had inspired me with an invitation to Shabbat (the Friday night meal that begins at sundown). Friends and family gathered at their kitchen table with candles, singing, wine, bread and a family meal. Since that evening, keeping the Sabbath has become more than squeezing in Mass on Sunday.

During that year of intentionally keeping the Sabbath, I prioritized time differently including homemade meals whenever possible on Saturdays and Sundays. On a drive from Long Island to Chicago, we listened to Wayne Muller’s reading his beautiful book called: Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest and Delight.

Every year since then, I’ve made the same resolution at the beginning of January and the learning goes deeper each year. Year two translated into no more work on Sundays (and included me gently telling clients). It also meant more time enjoying God’s gifts of nature.

Year three meant more rest, more often and without regret on Sundays and every day. And this, my fourth year of “Keeping the Sabbath,” has meant more intentional time with God in community with a group doing the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius.

Sabbath moments of pause reconnect me to the Divine where I rest in God. Staring at the stars and full moon delight my soul. Contemplating the place where the lake meets the horizon and imagining myself floating there in God and covered by God soothes my soul. These are some of my Sabbath moments.

Muller reminds us that Sabbath is an invitation to restore the sacred rhythm of rest and delight. What Sabbath moments do you treasure? What Sabbath moments do you want to invite into your life?

“Father, I long, I faint to see
The Place of thine abode;
I’d leave thine earthly courts, and flee
Up to thy seat, my God!
Here I behold they distant face,
And ‘tis a pleasing sight,
But to abide in thine embrace,
Is infinite delight”

Be silent.
Be still.
Alone.
Empty Before your God.
Say nothing.
Ask nothing.
Be silent.
Be still.
Let your God look upon you.
That is all.
God knows.
God understands.
God loves you
With an enormous love,
And only wants
To look upon you
With that love.
Quiet.
Still.
Be.
Let your God—
Love you.

Amidst the confusion of my day, give me the calmness of the everlasting hills. Teach me the art of taking minute vacations…of slowing down to look at a flower, to chat with a friend, to pat a dog, to read from a good book. Remind me to look upward at the towering oak, and know that it grew slowly and well. Slow me down, Lord.

If you don’t take a Sabbath, something is wrong. You’re doing too much, you’re being too much in charge. You’ve got to quit, one day a week, and just watch what God is doing when you’re not doing anything. – Eugene H. Peterson

One week ago, our Old St. Patrick’s community welcomed Michael Trout from YMEN, one of our partner organizations in North Lawndale, to speak at our Lenten Mission. Mike spoke to us about the power of reclaiming sabbath in all sorts of ways, and one of them was focusing on God in all the good we are doing. He put forth this equation: If we lose GOD (G-O-D) in the GOOD (G-O-O-D) we are doing, then what are we left with? Zero, nothing. If we lose God in the good we are doing, we are left with nothing. We are invited to take time today to see where God lives and breathes and moves in the good we are doing. How does this perspective help you live differently today? What new face of God will you discover in the midst of ordinary tasks? –Rachel Lyons